School of Secrets (The Perkins School for Self Improvement #1)

Chapter 4

As we continue our tour, Amber lectures me on classes and the structure of the school day.

"Breakfast is at seven," she tells me, leading me past each of my classrooms while trying and failing to make as little noise as possible, "class starts at eight. You've got five minutes between them, and each one lasts for an hour and fifteen minutes. Trust me, it sucks. Lunch is at eleven-fifty-five, when third hour ends, and you've got an hour to eat. Classes are over at three-thirty-five, cause of course no one thought it'd be acceptable to end at a normal time like three-thirty. Dinner's at six, and you're pretty much free all afternoon unless you're a prefect. We have meetings sometimes after class and, may I repeat, it sucks. On weekends breakfast gets pushed back to eight o'clock."

Amber finishes showing me around just after three, and I shrug off her offer to help me get back to my room. I've never been one to take excessive help when I'm confident in my own abilities, and today's no exception.

Fighting the impulse that keeps telling me I really don't have a clue where I'm going, I'm pretty proud of myself when I'm able to find room 26 without needing to hunt for someone to give me directions.

I spend the next forty-five minutes putting everything I brought with me away.

I'm incredibly disorganized and always have been, yet another thing Dad hates about my character. I don't have the patience to color-code clothes or make sure all my socks end up in pairs. It's not my style, and I'd rather be fast than accurate.

Probably not the best outlook, but I've survived on it so far.

It's almost four o'clock by the time I get around to making my bed. All of my crap has been either dumped in the chest of drawers or hung haphazardly in the closet, with the exception of the necessities. My battery-powered alarm clock is resting on the nightstand, and I've also plugged my phone charger into an outlet behind the small table. My phone now sits idly next to the clock, while my computer charges next to my roommate's laptop on the desk.

I've dug my school bag out of the suitcase it'd been stuffed in, and deposited my schedule and keycard into an inside pocket. The bag's been abandoned, thrown under my bed until I need it in a pretty careless fashion.

Finishing with the bed, I sit down with a huff.

It's not even dinnertime and I'm already at a maximum level of exhaustion. While, contrary to what I'd expected, it hasn't qualified as a day from hell, it's still been a bit rough to take in.

I've just decided that I need some time to unwind, to think about what's happening and to call my sis.

It's three o'clock now back in Missouri, I realize. I wonder what Tara's doing? Is she watching one of those overly irritating soap operas that she and Mom like so much? Or has Dad already started harassing her about the company now that his older child is out of the house?

I've just made up my mind to go ahead and call Tara when there's a click from the other side of my door. It opens abruptly, revealing a guy who looks to be about my height.

At around six foot, we'd probably stand eye-to-eye if I stood up to meet him. He's a bit less muscular than I am, though he's not one of those guys who can be classified as 'scrawny'.

His hair is that weird sand color that can't decide whether it's supposed to be brown or blonde, and his eyes are a dark gray.

His cell phone is shoved between his shoulder and his ear, while his backpack is slung over one shoulder. He's lugging around one of those large plastic water bottles, swinging it back and forth as he keeps walking into the room.

"... C, I don't even know what that means." he groans, tossing the pack on the floor near the foot of his bed and turning his back on me momentarily.